Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [37]
Sherlock shook his head. ‘I think there’s always danger, wherever you go. You can either ignore it, or you can wrap yourself in blankets so it doesn’t hurt you or you can walk towards it and dare it to do its worst. If you do the first thing then the danger takes you by surprise. If you do the second thing then you spend all your time swaddled up in the dark, letting the world pass you by. The only logical course of action is to go towards the danger. The more you get used to it, the better you can deal with it.’
Mycroft smiled, and for a moment Sherlock could see, within the folds of fat that now encased his brother’s frame, the boy that he had once been. ‘I collect information, and amass knowledge,’ he said softly. ‘But you – you have developed wisdom. There will be a day when everybody in the world knows your name.’
‘And besides,’ Sherlock said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘I’ve had the time of my life recently. If anyone had told me that by the end of the summer holidays I would have learned to ride a horse, fought in a boxing match, sailed across the Channel and fought a duel, I would have laughed. I’ll bet the most the other boys from school have done is flown a kite and had a picnic on the lawn. There’s still a part of me that thinks I’ll wake up to find out this has all been a dream.’
Mycroft’s gaze flickered across the room to where Virginia was still watching the door, waiting for her father to return. ‘And I suppose there are other compensating factors,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Sherlock asked, suddenly uncomfortable.
‘I mean the attractions of companionship.’ Mycroft’s face was suddenly pensive. ‘I am a . . . solitary . . . man,’ he said. ‘I do not suffer fools gladly, and I prefer to spend my time alone with a book and a decanter of brandy. Do not let my example become your exemplar. If friendship – or, dare I say it, affection – come into your life then embrace them enthusiastically.
Sherlock’s spirits suddenly fell as Mycroft’s words reminded him of Matthew Arnatt, somewhere out there in the hands of kidnappers. ‘I don’t mind embracing the danger,’ he said sombrely, ‘but I don’t want it to affect my friends.’
‘They make their choices, as you make yours,’ Mycroft pointed out. ‘The same arguments apply. They are not puppets, and you cannot keep them safe, just as I apparently cannot keep you safe. If they want to be with you, they will be. They accept the risk.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Certainly, by now, young Matthew must have worked out that being around you is neither safe nor boring.’
‘We will get him back, won’t we, Mycroft?’
‘I will not let my heart write a cheque that life will not allow me to cash,’ Mycroft said gently. ‘I cannot know the future for sure, but I can use my knowledge and experience to predict the shape of it. I believe there is a high probability that Matty will be returned to us unharmed, although what other events may transpire along the way is another question.’
The door opened and Amyus Crowe entered the room. He was holding a piece of crumpled paper.
‘I found this in the prisoner’s pocket,’ he said. ‘Looks like some kind of code. Not sure what it means.’
‘Was he conscious?’ Mycroft asked.
‘He was either flat out or a good actor. I had a quick look at his clothes, though. The cut of the material and the labels inside are mainly American.’
‘Let us have a look at that paper. It might give us a clue to where he had to send his message.’
Crowe spread the paper out on his desk. Mycroft and Sherlock crowded around him. Virginia stayed back, smiling now that her father had returned.
The paper had a series of letters and numbers scrawled across it in handwriting that had obviously been written in a moving carriage in a hurry. Sherlock read ten groups of